


Conviction

by Sorin



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M, NSFW, PWP, WAFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7260493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorin/pseuds/Sorin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, when one least expects it, polar opposites attract like a magnet. (This contains SPOILERS for up through patch 3.2, so please have played that far if you're concerned!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conviction

**Author's Note:**

> I needed some Aymeric/WoL fluff after 3.2 (and 3.3 hadn't even been announced when this started, if that tells you how long this sat around while I poked at it) and so here it is. Pure and thorough fluff. Thanks to WonderMint for reading and encouraging me to finish it!
> 
> This story contains sexual content between two guys, so if that's not your thing, this is not your story- otherwise, please enjoy!

The fire has burned low when Aymeric hears his office door open, but he doesn’t bother looking up.  He has his head in his hands and he’s staring down at a report, though whether or not he’s actually getting anything out of it is up in the air.  He’s too tired, too heartsick, too close to broken to put up a facade for now… and at this hour, in the middle of the cold night, he shouldn’t _have_ to.

That, of course, does not change the fact that someone has come into his office and closed the door behind them, and so he forces himself to rally.  He lifts his head and looks at his visitor, and when he sees who it is, his eyes widen slightly.  He hadn’t expected the Warrior of Light to return so soon, not when there was so much on his plate.

The Warrior strides purposefully across the room, and Aymeric’s tired eyes take in the fact that he’s holding a wrapped bundle.  It’s nearly instinctive by now to expect bad news, and a sharp spike of anxiety twists his stomach as he wonders what it could possibly be.  The adventurer’s expression is neutral, but the fire in his eyes tells Aymeric that something is weighing heavily on his mind- and, indeed, angering him.

Aymeric sits back a bit as the bundle is dropped unceremoniously in front of him, landing on the report he’d been reading with a light ‘thump’.  He looks up at the adventurer before looking back down at the bundle, and he slowly reaches out and pushes some of the fabric aside.  He sighs quietly to see what it is- two sandwiches on Ishgardian muffins, the latter of which he’s well-known for eating on the run- and looks back up with a weary smile.  “Are you going to join me, my friend?” he asks quietly.  He’d meant it to come out somewhat teasing, but the weight of the words hang between them like a guillotine.

The Warrior gives him a stoic nod in response.  It’s clear that he doesn’t trust Aymeric to eat if he leaves, and left to his own devices, Aymeric likely wouldn’t.  Oh, he would certainly feel guilty enough over it, cast the sandwiches a mournful glance even as he handed them over to a Temple Knight to give to someone in greater need than he… but he wouldn’t eat them himself.

“After this,” the man says quietly, his words meaning so much more for how little he says at all, “you are going to rest.”

Aymeric’s gaze drifts past the sandwich to the report.  “Would that I could,” he began, and before he can say anything else a loud _bang_ interrupts him.  He jumps and looks up at the warrior in shock, realizing that the sound had been the usually quiet, even-tempered man hitting the desk with both hands.

“Do you think you’re the only one grieving?” the adventurer demands, beautiful eyes boring into his own and holding his gaze fast.  “Do you think you can drown your sorrows in work until you can no longer function?  We are helplessly watching you kill yourself by ilms, Ser Aymeric, and it stops _now._ ”

Aymeric is stunned into silence as he stares up into the angry face of the Warrior of Light.  He’s seen the man angry before, but that anger has never been directed at him- even at first, he’d only been merely annoyed, it had seemed.  He opens his mouth to speak, then slowly closes it and looks back down at the sandwiches.

“You’ve done everything you can to put forth a strong face,” the adventurer continues, his voice soft- but no less urgent than before.  “You don’t have to be strong right now.  If you don’t take care of yourself, who will take care of Ishgard?  You are as mortal as the rest of us, and you- you can’t keep going on like this.”  His voice breaks just a little.  “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

For just a split second, Aymeric has to squeeze his eyes shut.  He draws a shaky breath and lets it out slowly, doing his best to compose himself, before looking back at the adventurer with a small smile.  “Nay, you have the right of it,” he says softly.  “Forgive me.”

“I will if you eat,” the Warrior replies gruffly, withdrawing and crossing his arms across his chest, clearly unused to such displays of emotion.

Aymeric smiles faintly.  “It’s a deal, then.”  He picks up one of the sandwiches and lifts it to his lips.  His stomach tries to revolt, but as soon as the first bite settles on his tongue it suddenly remembers the hour- and though he doesn’t want to admit it, Aymeric is _starving._

The sandwiches are demolished faster than he can remember eating most anything, and Aymeric finds himself looking for more.  The adventurer’s lips quirk upward in a half-grin.  “More?” he asks, and when Aymeric nods slightly, he gestures for him to follow.

The paperwork only gets a cursory glance as Aymeric rises and obeys, leaving his office- and his worries- behind.

It’s late enough that nobody at House Fortemps sees the two men enter the manor beyond the guard, and the adventurer leads the way toward the room he’s been given.  Aymeric follows gamely, and once they’re behind closed doors he looks around with vague curiosity.  There’s not much about the room that says _home_ , not for the Warrior of Light, but it’s a nice place nonetheless.  It’s decorated much the same as the rest of the manor and looks quite elegant, but when he pictures the man he’s come to know over the past few months here, he finds it fits him a bit poorly.  Not for the first time, he wonders if the adventurer is homesick- where he’s from, if he has family, if he’s _missed_.

Aymeric knows he would be were he to leave, so he assumes that somewhere, that is the case for someone.

He watches as the adventurer crosses the room and fetches a covered tray from a table, which he brings to the low table in front of the hearth, and he can’t help but smile a bit.  “You were prepared, I see,” he says quietly.

The Warrior glances up at him, and for a brief moment, Aymeric sees a bit of a sheepish look about him.  “I’d hoped,” is the simple reply.  “It was the only way I could think to remove you from your desk.”

Those words warm him.  Aymeric walks over and sits down next to him, then looks at the sandwiches with a fond smile.  “I would sincerely hate to disappoint you.”  He takes one and takes a bite of it, watching the adventurer pick up his own sandwich to do the same.

The two eat in silence, and Aymeric doesn’t find it one bit uncomfortable.  He’s used to his companion’s quiet nature, which is why what had happened earlier had startled him so badly, and when he thinks back on it an unpleasant knot of guilt settles itself firmly in his stomach.  He bows his head, then looks at the man sitting to his right.

“Thank you for thinking of this,” he says, his voice quiet.  “It means a great deal that you care as much as you do.”

“We all care.”  The adventurer keeps his beautiful eyes cast down, perhaps unwilling to risk another display of emotion.  “The difference is that I’m not beholden to you.”

Aymeric closes his eyes briefly.  He knows Lucia worries for him, she tells him often enough that he must take care of himself, and he ignores her.  He doesn’t allow her to argue because he thinks that his is the right path, and thus far all his bullheaded stubbornness has gotten him is injured and bereft of a dear friend.  “No,” he says softly, “you are not.”

Something in his voice catches the adventurer’s attention and he looks up and over at him.  He’s quiet for a few breaths, clearly warring with himself, before shifting a bit to face him.  “Look at me,” he says, and when Aymeric does he gives him a faint smile.  “Right or wrong, we are all in this together.  I am firmly in support of you no matter what you choose.  … the balance of it all, though- I can’t figure that out for you.”

“I would never ask,” Aymeric protests, but the adventurer lifts a hand to silence him.

“I know.  All I- all _we_ can do is stand behind you and offer you support.”  The Warrior exhales and lifts his hands, raking them through his hair.  “From the moment I first saw you I knew you to be a man of conviction.  I see it in everything you do.  If you do not take care, it will eat you alive.”

Aymeric moves to rise, unable to sit still, but he finds himself caught and held by the wrist in a grip that is gentle but insistent.  He hovers for a few seconds before sinking back to the couch and bringing his free hand to his face.  “Worry not,” he mumbles.  “I cannot outrun my demons.”

“None of us can.”  The grip on his wrist shifts a little, and a warm hand wraps around his own and gives it a gentle squeeze.  “Let me face them with you.”

That’s a dangerous proposition.  The people closest to him seem to be disappearing at a rapid rate.  Aymeric is tempted to refuse, to get up and leave, but he knows that if he does that will be the last time the Warrior of Light ever speaks to him in such a way- and he knows he can’t bear such a thing.  He _cannot_ lose another friend.  “I am not good at sharing my burdens,” he finally says helplessly, and the adventurer lets out a short sound that might be a laugh… though there’s no mocking note behind it, no malice.

“No, you aren’t,” the softspoken man agrees.  “You’ve never been in the time I’ve known you.  You are quick to ask for help for Ishgard now that you know you can do so without repercussion, but _you…_ ”

Aymeric nods slightly, dropping his hand from his face.  He rests his elbows on his knees, letting his hands hang loose between them, and stares at the floor.  “I am used to it,” he replies.  “For better or worse, I am used to it.  In Ishgard, one learns to stand on his own very quickly if one wishes to survive- especially being born with so much against you.”

The Warrior snorts.  “You already know my thoughts on the matter.”

A small smile curves his lips- he can’t resist- and Aymeric nods.  “Aye, I do.”  He sighs and leans back, settling his clasped hands on his stomach as he looks up at the ceiling.  “At the moment, the one thing I desperately wish for is one thing I cannot, in good conscience, ask you to do- and yet, as with the rest, I must.  … politically, Nidhogg must meet an end- a _permanent_ end.  Personally… all I want is Estinien returned, whole and hale.”

“I will try,” is the quiet, fierce response.  “You must know that.  He’s my friend too- I’ll not see him languish away as he is.  If there’s a way to return him, I’ll find it.”

“I know.”  Aymeric’s smile fades.  “I do not dare hope for that.  What the heart wants and what the mind knows must be are two very different things.”

“They don’t have to be.”  The adventurer gazes at him, a level, serious expression on his face.  “Sometimes the heart knows better than the mind.”

Aymeric pauses, then speaks slowly.  “Sometimes that is true, but… in this case, it seems a fantasy that will never come to fruition.  I’ve seen- and heard about- you performing what some men might call miracles, however, you and the Scions… and that is what gives me hope.  I do not wish to burden you with such a thing, for if it is _not_ possible, I do not want you to feel responsible.”

The adventurer smiles as well, a wry twist of his lips that is more self-deprecating than a display of humor.  “I will either way.”

Silence falls over the two for a little while, though it isn’t uncomfortable in the least.  Aymeric gazes absently at the ceiling as he goes through the conversation that had just taken place, and after a little while he turns his eyes to the Warrior of Light.  The man is sitting in much the same position he had been, sprawled carelessly against the back of the couch with his legs arranged comfortably in front of him.  Aymeric realizes then, with a jolt that startles him, that the Warrior isn’t wearing his armor- he simply hadn’t taken note of it before.  He’s dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, as well as boots that rise to his mid-calf.  Aymeric himself had stripped out of his several bells prior, wearing only his long-sleeved blue shirt and his own leather breeches.  His own boots, he notes, reach his knees.  For some reason he decides that needs to be compared and turned over in his mind, and he absently ruminates over the difference for a moment.

Finally, he rises, and the Warrior blinks up at him before standing up as well.  “Thank you, my friend,” Aymeric says with a quick smile.  “I think we should both get to bed, else we’ll fall asleep right here in front of the fire.”

The adventurer nods to him and walks him to the door, but before Aymeric has time to get his cloak on, he reaches out and gently brushes his fingertips against Aymeric’s bicep.  The touch may as well have been a Dravanian attack- it electrocutes him, sends a jolt straight through him, the like of which he’s never experienced.  He swiftly shoves all of that to the very back of his mind, realizing the adventurer might have something he wants to say.

“Thank you,” the man says softly.  “Do get some rest, Ser Aymeric.  … and don’t forget to eat breakfast.”

“I will,” Aymeric replies, and the whole way home he studiously thinks of nothing but putting one foot in front of the other until he’s in his own chambers.

Once the door is locked and he’s safely alone, he sags back against the solid wood behind him and closes his eyes, drawing a slow breath.  The memory of that touch comes back to the front of his mind, along with all the emotions that had accompanied it, and Aymeric is no more able to explain their presence now than he had been in the moment.  The more he thinks on it, though, the more a little voice in the back of his mind makes itself heard, and he finally closes his eyes.

_I am attracted to him._

He slowly opens his eyes again and stares into his sitting room, then pushes away from the wall and takes his boots off before padding into his room.  He feels like he’s in a daze, and when he crawls into bed and closes his eyes he sees the adventurer’s gentle smile, the look of happiness in his bright eyes when Aymeric had polished off the food he’d brought.  He swallows thickly and bites his lip, shifting just a bit as though uncomfortable, and then rolls onto his side.  The more he thinks about him, about that slightly rough, lilting voice, about the way he tilts his head just a little when he’s listening intently, the way he lights up a room whenever he enters, the more flustered he gets.

He only feels a bit guilty when he slowly slips one hand beneath the covers, down his side and across his flat stomach, and lower yet.  His own thoughts can do no harm, and though they come with a bit of awkwardness at thinking of his friend in such a way… well, once it’s all over and he’s panting and flushed, he has to admit to himself that it hadn’t felt quite this good in a very long time.

Those thoughts are a bit more embarrassing in the broad light of day, and so Aymeric does his level best to set them aside as he buries himself in his work as he always does- though as he’d promised, he does take the time to eat.  The routine helps settle his scattered thoughts, and he finds himself able to work without distractions… at least until the sun goes down.  When he finds himself alone in his office, working by candlelight, thoughts of the night prior begin to worm their way into his mind… and a strange, fluttering feeling settles itself in his stomach.

Slowly, he sets his quill down in its holder and sits back in his chair, then pushes himself to his feet.  He needs time to think, and for that he needs the guarantee of privacy- and he won’t have that here.  It’s been brewing in the back of his mind all day, and he’s thankful that it hadn’t distracted him, but he knows himself well enough to realize that if he doesn’t work things out in his own head they will consume him.  He decides to retreat back to his chambers for the time being, just for a little while.

He thinks back to the night before as he bolts the door behind him, pictures the Warrior of Light’s face and smiles a little to himself.  The man is very good-looking, and he had made note of that when first he’d set eyes on him.  Aymeric is the sort of man who takes a full appraisal of someone at the earliest opportunity, cataloguing the information away for later use as needed.  Someone’s looks, their talents, their quirks- all of it gets filed and organized.  His lips part as a soft exhale escapes him, and he turns his mind to what exactly had caused him to react the way he had.

Aymeric is truly no stranger to physical attraction, though he very rarely considers it beyond the superficial.  He appreciates beauty in all forms, but first and foremost he is dedicated to Halone and to Ishgard, and he lives his life strictly according to scripture and to his own morals and beliefs.  None of that says he _can’t_ have a lover, he just simply never has bothered, because most people who’ve wanted him have only wanted him for his looks or his position, never for _him._  He sighs to himself as he strips his armor off piece by piece, as though by doing so he’ll peel layers away from his troubled mind and come to the source of it all without further disarray.

There is a logical explanation for what he’d felt, of course, that being the selfsame attraction he’d admitted to himself that he had the night before.  He’d climaxed with the adventurer’s name on his lips, and though remembering doing so makes his face burn, he feels his blood stir once again at the thought.  It is perhaps unfair to think of the man like this, but Aymeric isn’t in the habit of lying to himself, and he knows that where physical attraction begins, romantic interest may soon follow if one is close enough to the object of one’s affections.  This has only happened to him once or twice in his life.

What remains, of course, is the _why._

Aymeric pokes at the fire in the hearth before setting the metal rod carefully back in its holder, and he flops unceremoniously down on his couch.  Why, indeed, he thinks dryly.  Nothing in his life has ever had a particular reason, least of all ending up as Lord Commander and de facto ruler of Ishgard, so why should something as simple as being attracted to someone have an explanation?

He frowns up at the ceiling.  Why, really, should it _need_ an explanation?

Something about that thought is oddly liberating, and Aymeric relaxes further into the cushions as he mulls it over.  He doesn’t need a _reason_ to be attracted to someone, especially with someone like the Warrior of Light.  Perhaps it’s truly best for the attraction to simply _be_ , not be scrutinized and turned over for examination.  Perhaps it’s for the best that he doesn’t think too hard on it, and instead focus on what he’s going to do about it.

He smiles wryly.  Another dead end, unfortunately- he has no idea what he’s going to do about it.

Still, he remembers, the adventurer had been the one to reach out and touch him when he’d left, not the other way around.  He can’t remember the man ever being that close to someone- save for Haurchefant, of course.  That thought gives him a very uncomfortable pause.  He doesn’t know what sort of relationship those two had had, if any, and he is acutely aware that it is because of his poor choices that Haurchefant had died.  Realistically, he thinks glumly, the Warrior should probably hate him, and yet…

He sighs and stands, pacing from one side of the room to the other.  “And yet,” he says quietly to the empty room, “you’ve gone beyond your duty to ensure that I’m able to do mine.”  He stops and slowly turns toward the door.

Maybe thinking about it isn’t going to work.

Maybe what he needs is _action._

It only takes him a second to decide, and he grabs his cloak and boots, getting into them quickly before leaving the safety of his room and heading into the unknown.  It will be worth it, he thinks, even if all it was was a gesture of friendship- and if there _is_ mutual attraction, well, that can be managed as it goes.

Unfortunately, as he walks he has time to begin to doubt, and by the time he’s at Fortemps Manor he has to force himself to continue.  What-if scenarios swirl through his mind at a rapid pace, and he pauses at the bottom of the stairs and looks up them, toward the hallway where the adventurer’s room is.

_Action,_ he reminds himself, and he draws a breath to steady himself before hurrying up them and into the hallway.  He doesn’t allow for any more doubt, instead lifting a hand and immediately knocking firmly.

The door opens a few breaths later to reveal the adventurer in clothes much the same as those he’d worn last night.  Bright eyes look ever so slightly surprised before their owner smiles a little and steps back so Aymeric can come inside.  The Lord Commander does so, deliberately and confidently, hiding any discomfort behind that shield he’s always used.

Once the door is closed, however, Aymeric lowers the shield ever so slightly and gives the other man a brief smile.  “I hope you do not mind my coming here unannounced,” he says.

The adventurer shakes his head.  “You are always welcome, Ser Aymeric.”  He gestures toward the couch.  “Please.”

Aymeric slowly sits down next to him, then turns to him with another smile, this one less fragile than the one before.  “I had hoped to spend more time speaking with you,” he ventures, and the Warrior smiles back and nods.  Getting the conversation started is the hard part, but Aymeric relies on his years of playing the political game in Ishgard, guiding the conversation skillfully so as not to leave either one of them feeling awkward.  The two talk about a wide array of topics, from the ever-changing weather to what it was like here before the Calamity, to the adventurer’s travels and Aymeric’s own experiences as a knight- it seems to stretch on in the most wonderful way, and Aymeric finds himself captivated as the man next to him relays the story of how he’d bested the primal Leviathan.  It’s not so much the story as how the Warrior tells it, the gleam in his eyes and the way he describes it, that holds his attention fast.

When the time seems right, Aymeric tips his head ever so slightly.  “Tell me about yourself,” he requests, and he watches the adventurer’s reaction carefully.  “I know much of the Warrior of Light and little of the man behind him- and should you allow it, I would hear it.”

The adventurer hesitates, then nods slightly.  “It’s not all pretty,” he warns.

“Nobody is all pretty,” Aymeric says with a faint smile.  “You’ve naught to fear.”

By the time the adventurer finishes it is _very_ late, and the two are both beginning to wilt.  Aymeric finds himself beginning to doze leaning against the couch as he is, and after a few moments of silence he opens his eyes again to find the adventurer fast asleep.  For a moment he wonders if perhaps he’d be better off leaving- he’d done so the night before, but the adventurer had been awake to walk him out.  He frowns a little as he struggles with himself- is it better to leave and have the Warrior wake alone, or stay and make a polite excuse?

What settles him on staying is how peaceful the adventurer looks, and something he’d said while telling his story:   _I have nightmares.  I never sleep well, and even if I do, I hate waking up sometimes._

He closes his eyes again, resolving to be there if the Warrior wakes frightened.  This night, at least, he will be able to sleep knowing he isn’t alone.

If he has any dreams of his own he can’t remember them, and Aymeric wakes slowly, feeling a bit disoriented.  There’s a warm weight resting against him, and he has a brief second of panic that sets his heart to pounding until he remembers exactly where he is.  He exhales slowly and closes his eyes again, relaxing back against the couch cushions and looking at the mop of unruly hair resting on his chest.  His fingers twitch a bit with the urge to drift through it, but he restrains himself, contenting himself to rest one hand lightly on the adventurer’s side as the man sleeps half on top of him.

He’s almost fallen asleep again when the Warrior draws a slow breath and shifts a little bit.  A moment of indecision strikes him- pretend to be asleep?  Say something reassuring?- but neither of those things have a chance to happen.  Another subtle shift makes Aymeric’s eyes widen a little, and he flushes crimson at the firm heat pressed against his thigh.  He _should_ move, now, should do something and _anything_ to avoid humiliating the adventurer- but he remains frozen.

A quiet sound from the other man sets his pulse racing again, and he closes his eyes tight.  Gods, but he _should not be here-_ but he wants to be, very much, and that sinful thought causes him to burn with shame.  Luckily or not, the Warrior shifts again, one hand coming up to clutch at Aymeric’s arm, and he lets out a low growl.

Aymeric opens his mouth to say _I’m sorry,_ but those words are swallowed by a needy kiss as the adventurer pushes himself up and claims his mouth for his own.  Ice blue eyes widen in shock and he is helpless against the onslaught, but his own hands come up to grip broad shoulders and strong biceps and any protest he may have had dies before it can be spoken.  He doesn’t _dare_ .  Shameful as it is, taking advantage like this, he is too weak to draw away.  The kisses feel like drowning and gasping for air all at once, and he grips all the tighter as the adventurer shifts over him properly, pressing against him in _just_ the right way-

And Aymeric isn’t sure who flinches first, but they part with a gasp and a low whine he can’t hold back, lips reddened and parted.

Those beautiful eyes are wide and wild, and once again Aymeric tries to say _I’m sorry,_ but a subtle movement makes a groan bubble up low in his throat and what comes out instead is a mumbled, desperate plea of _don’t stop, don’t you dare stop-!_  There’s only a split second of hesitation as Aymeric tips his head back imploringly, and those eyes snap from his to look at the flesh he’d bared.  Aymeric isn’t sure why, but the adventurer shudders as his eyes glaze slightly, and then that hot mouth is attached to his neck, nuzzling at his pulse point and biting ever so carefully so as not to leave a visible mark.

At this point, Aymeric is entirely certain that he wouldn’t care at all if he _did_ leave a mark.

His breath comes faster as the adventurer teases him, moving agonizingly slowly along the length of his neck and up to his ear, taking care to avoid the sapphire earring he wears in order to nibble delicately at the shell.  Aymeric closes his eyes tight, wanting to _beg_ for him to stop teasing, but every move the adventurer makes speaks of his greater level of experience, and that makes the decision to give over that much easier.  He swallows thickly and turns his head to the side, and his reward is a low chuckle right against his ear that sends a shockwave straight through him.  He’s quite certain he hasn’t ever become so blindingly aroused in such a short amount of time before, and what’s happening to him doesn’t make much sense in that regard, but by the Twelve, he doesn’t _care._

The warrior trails his lips down his neck again, stopping to repeat the nuzzling against his racing pulse, which makes Aymeric’s blush darken a little.  He certainly can’t control his body’s reactions, he’s discovered, and there’s no way for him to play off his urgent arousal as anything else.  This seems to please his unintentional lover, however, and a low sound rumbles in his chest as he shifts his weight to the side.  The loss of him makes Aymeric grit his teeth, but he forces himself to be calm and _wait,_ trusting that the other man knows what he’s doing.  Sure enough, the Warrior urges him to roll and face him, and Aymeric presses close and hitches one leg up over his lover’s hip- being so bold wouldn’t have occurred to him otherwise.  The contact makes his eyes squeeze shut again, and he makes a sound so close to a whimper that he can hardly believe his ears, but the adventurer reacts favorably by reaching down and gripping his rear, pulling him tighter against him and making a low noise of his own.

Never in all his life has Aymeric felt so _lost_ .  It’s as though a fever grips him, rushing through his body and searing every part of him, rendering him unable to think or even speak for the burning _need_ consuming him.  He can’t think, can’t do anything but feel- and so he does, rolling his hips as instinct drives him forward.  The Warrior growls in his ear as he does so and returns the motion, and Aymeric’s eyes roll back and fall shut at how _wonderful_ it feels.  Though he hasn’t had many lovers in the past, he doesn’t remember it being anywhere near this intense, nor does he remember being so perilously close to the edge after such a short amount of time.  He manages to tear his mouth away from the adventurer’s long enough to try to say something, to communicate his worries- and then the pressure disappears and _oh Halone have mercy_ a warm, calloused hand slips beneath his trousers, and he sees stars.

The adventurer makes a sound in his ear that’s half whimper and half moan at feeling him, palming him as best he can at the angle they’re pressed together and watching him with those captivating eyes.  Aymeric thinks he should probably feel ashamed at letting this happen at all, but he doesn’t- all he feels is the swelling heat in his belly, the rough hand wrapped around him and moving easily against slick skin, the ragged breath against his ear.  He can barely breathe himself, managing small gasps between hitched moans and pleas, and he has a thought that he should _control himself_ , but it’s all for naught.

The last thing he remembers is the adventurer squeezing him carefully, that low voice of his murmuring _let go_ , and the most beautiful sensation he’s ever felt after that.

He thinks he yelled out loud.  He hopes the Warrior muffled his voice- he knows he kissed him fiercely.

When he comes back to himself he finds himself pressed close to the adventurer, panting harshly.  The adventurer kisses his cheek, then his mouth, and Aymeric returns the kiss fervently.  He doesn’t remember the last time it had felt that good- certainly not by himself.  His own hand is a poor substitute indeed, in comparison.  He should say something, he knows he should, but his mind refuses to work.

The adventurer brings him back, grounds him and reminds him, and Aymeric manages to draw back just enough to stare into lust-darkened eyes.  Slowly, hesitantly, he reaches down and rests his fingers on the back of the adventurer’s hand- and the adventurer flinches ever so slightly at his touch, as though afraid Aymeric will pull away at the evidence of his own pleasure.  Inexperienced though he may be, Aymeric is not discourteous, and he presses close for another kiss as he grabs for the untucked tail of his royal blue shirt.  He carefully wipes the adventurer’s hand as clean as he can, and the other man shudders against him, making a quiet sound that he hears with every inch of his body.

Aymeric lifts the hand in his to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the palm, then looks up at the adventurer’s face when he hears his breath hitch.  He smirks just a little and brushes the tip of his tongue against the pad of his index finger, and his reward is another shudder and a press of slim hips against his own.  He could do this all day, he thinks dreamily, but now is not the time for drawing it out- not after the other man had been so unreserved with him.  He grazes his teeth against the finger he’d just licked before settling the hand on his chest, and he leans up to kiss him yet again as he contemplates his next move.

The Warrior growls a little and shifts restlessly, pressing his hips forward again as Aymeric draws his own leg up further to grant him more purchase.  The friction is wonderful, even after his climax, and the thought of the adventurer aching for release makes his blood stir again.  Aymeric is bound and determined to return the favor, it’s just a matter of _how_ \- but a long kiss catches him and distracts him, and by the time it breaks he’s gasping for air as his heart races in his chest.  The adventurer lets out a low whine, teeth scraping against his jaw as he mouths at whatever skin he can reach, and Aymeric’s breath catches.

He finds himself unable to draw away- he loves being pressed so close, and his lover- can he call him that?- seems to feel the same.  There’s much he wants to try, but the other man seems near desperate with the way he keeps kissing him and making half-broken sounds into his ear.  Aymeric feels himself reacting all over again, and he lets out a muffled groan of his own as the near-frantic roll of the adventurer’s hips causes his blood to ignite.  He moves his hand away from where it had pressed his lover’s against his chest and slips it down between them, just as the other man had done for him- though in doing so, the hand against his chest just presses harder.  There’s something about that he likes a great deal, and Aymeric smiles against the adventurer’s mouth as nimble fingers undo the laces of his trousers.

The half-voiced moans and whimpers nearly become shouts of pleasure as Aymeric wraps a sure, steady hand around him, but Aymeric takes care to muffle him lest the entire manor hear.  Just as Aymeric had lost himself to pleasure, so too is the Warrior of Light, and that is something Aymeric strongly wishes to keep to himself.  He focuses on the rhythm set before, and it’s not long at all until the adventurer is thrusting into Aymeric’s hand- and Aymeric is the one who has to muffle himself at that point, indulging in another one of those deep kisses, heedless of technique in the heat of the moment.

He’s not sure where the tipping point is, whether it’s the frantic movement or the way their tongues tangle or the press of the hand against his chest, but he feels the Warrior jerk in his hand as he loses command of himself.  Aymeric kisses him hard, though the adventurer manages to gasp his name against his mouth- and _gods_ , but that is an amazing sound- and then it’s over, like heat lightning dancing across a desert sky.  The adventurer relaxes all at once, panting and tucked close, and Aymeric can’t help but smile as he nudges their noses together and brushes a whisper-soft kiss against bruised, swollen lips.

This, he thinks, is something he can _certainly_ live with.

When the passion begins to cool, however, when all is said and done and he realizes what’s happened, Aymeric tips his chin up to look at the adventurer again.  He opens his mouth, the words _I’m sorry_ once again ready to emerge, but the Warrior of Light shakes his head slightly and lifts the hand from his chest to lightly settle callused fingertips against his lips.  “Don’t,” he says quietly.

Aymeric studies him, pale blue eyes gazing into bright and determined, and he exhales slightly and nods.  “Very well,” he replies, his voice a gentle lilt.

The adventurer relaxes and exhales, brushing a kiss to Aymeric’s cheekbone.  “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he mumbles.  “It’s almost embarrassing.”

The thought makes him blush, but Aymeric smiles, feeling oddly pleased.  “Well, my friend, the feeling is quite mutual- and should you wish to do so again, I shan’t refuse.”

His immediate answer is a snort, though the adventurer looks amused.  “All it takes is the offer of a meal?”

Aymeric colors just a bit at the teasing, but he laughs all the same- and so does the Warrior, which warms him.  “I suppose one might say I am easily coerced.”

“But you aren’t,” the adventurer replies, his expression suddenly serious.  “... I can’t promise-”

“Don’t.”  It’s Aymeric’s turn this time, though he earns the adventurer’s silence through a soft, chaste kiss.  “I need no promises,” he says softly, “nor can I grant you any myself.  … all I ask is that at the end of the day, we remain friends regardless of what transpires here or elsewhere.”

The adventurer lights up in a smile, and Aymeric can’t help but smile back.  “That I _can_ promise,” he says firmly, “and I will.”

Aymeric nods and impulsively gives him another kiss.  “Good,” he says simply- and when his response is a roguish grin and kiss in turn, all he can do is laugh again, and he sinks into warmth as strong arms wrap around him and hold him close.

This is, he thinks, more than enough.


End file.
